


Dahlias and Roses

by highlytrainedfangirl



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: (especially compared to the actual show), Belief references to Sarah Steel and implied alcoholism, Canon Nonbinary Character, Here I am writing about the flowers again, Other, Slight fluff with a decent slab of angst, but it's not much, pre-season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 17:17:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18743515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highlytrainedfangirl/pseuds/highlytrainedfangirl
Summary: Bored, Juno is following up on an old case involving threats hidden behind old Earth flower symbolism.He can't help but become a little curious about a certain birthday gift he received and it's possible meaning.





	Dahlias and Roses

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working with the assumption that Rita Minute 3 is set between the Final Resting Place and Kitty Cat Caper, so this is pre-season 2

Juno’s apartment was a mess.

Well, it was more of a mess than usual. It hadn’t been _clean_ since he had moved in.

But on this particular day it was borderline disastrous, even by his standards. Papers were stacked and scattered across every available surface, a crumpled white blanket coating his entire living room.

Rita, in one of her infuriating attempts at compassion, had decided that Juno was ‘working too hard’ and ‘needed a break’ and ‘was going to relax even if Rita had to tie him to a deck chair’. He had been locked in his apartment for two days and was going slightly insane. The entire first day of ‘rest’ had been dedicated to trying to break out of his own goddamn apartment, but Rita had thought of everything. Damn those digital locks.

He needed something to do, _anything_ to do, to keep his mind occupied.

With no access to his office, Juno was forced to satisfy himself with the one folder Rita allowed him to keep at home: the Reject File. Every case he had deemed insubstantial or below his level complied into a single shameful folder. Rita only allowed them into his apartment because she was certain he would never touch them, but his pride wouldn’t let him throw them out completely. Even if Rita was right.

Until now. The entire contents of said folder was currently decorating his front room. At least one of them had to be good for an emergency. It was just a matter of finding it.

So far? Nothing. Stolen car. Missing pet. Another missing pet. Woman who was convinced she was being catfished by a ghost. Suspected break in that almost certainly didn’t happen. Mysterious death threats. More missing pets.

Wait.

He flipped back the previous sheet. Mysterious death threats. That would do. He pulled out the single sheet of paper which constituted the file, scanning the information for – if not a strong case – something that would at least occupy his focus for however long Rita decided he needed to ‘relax’. He couldn’t remember why exactly it had been discarded initially, but it certainly seemed like it would do.

The rejected client – a Mx Cancio – believed that they were receiving death threats through flowers. He was prepared to laugh it off, until he saw a note that the client apparently believed this was being done through some old Earth language, built upon the symbolism of different types of flowers. If the case proved to be nothing, learning a new language would give him something to do.

 

Rita, blessedly, had not left him completely isolated. He was able to carry out a little light research on his tablet, eventually finding a ‘dictionary’ of sorts. This flower language, as it turned out, was simultaneously far simpler and more complex than expected. While the messages conveyed were often vague – hope, anxiety, trust, joy – it was also incredibly specific, with some flowers holding dramatically contradictory meaning based on mere changes in colour.

Cross-referencing the dictionary with the, surprisingly detailed, descriptions of bouquets delivered to Mx Cancio, Juno began to see the reasoning behind their paronoia. If it had only been one or two it could be dismissible as a coincidence; after all, how many people could be expected to know an archaic floral language? But after almost twenty bouquets delivering equally threatening messages, it became harder to dismiss. The last one, delivered a month ago to Mx Cancio’s doorstep, was a beautiful arrangement of begonias, orange lilies and a single black rose.

The translation: warnings about future misfortunes, hatred, and death.

Juno honestly had no memory of even hearing this case – a double check of the date confirmed it was recent – but then, he had been mass-rejecting so many cases lately, it wasn’t a surprise to see something genuine slip through the cracks. The detective spared a moment to feel a little guilt at throwing the case out, hoping that Mx Cancio was alright. Once he was released, Juno would have to pay them a visit.

 

It had barely taken an afternoon to establish the cases’ validity, and with no other information to work with from his apartment, Juno slumped back into his restlessness.

As his eye raked over the sea of papers enveloping him, Juno landed on the one thing he didn’t want to see. The only part of the room free from white. Stood atop a low table, shoved into the far corner of the room stood a vase of flowers, filled with perhaps the most beautiful gift he had received.

Dahlias and roses.

Living in a peaceful detachment to the chaos of the apartment.

From the second they were placed in the vase (a necessary donation from Rita) he had been doing everything in his power to pretend that they didn’t exist. His success was… limited. They would always catch his eye, begging him to let his mind wonder into the possibilities of what might have been…

No. He couldn’t let himself hope. They were undoubtably from Nureyev, but that didn’t mean they meant forgiveness. They could be spiteful. They could be a reminder of all that Juno threw away. He wanted to believe there was something hopeful behind the gesture.

He wanted to, but he couldn’t. Not fully. They were equally as successful in making his heart race and stomach flip with emotions Juno didn’t dare name, as they were in making guilt claw at his nerves. Every time he thought about throwing them out something stopped him. They were well-past beautiful, almost dead, sitting in an old vase that was tarnished beyond repair. And yet, he couldn’t let them go. Wasn’t that just his problem.

The lady looked between the vase and his tablet, unlocked and still displaying the flower-dictionary. He took a moment, trying to talk himself out of a decision already-made. It might be nothing. It was probably nothing. But if anyone knew antiquated Earth floral symbolism, it would be _him._

With disconcertingly strong nerves, he skimmed the entries on his tablet. Roses were rather unsurprising: love, devotion, passion. All emotions he longed to believe were real and undamaged. The dahlia, though, the dahlia was what caught his eye and made him sick to the stomach.

The first two on the list made him question whether Dahlia would have been a better alias for Nureyev.

_Staying graceful under pressure, especially in challenging situation_

_Standing out form the crowd and following you own unique path_

That was Nureyev though and through. Admittedly, his specialty was hiding amongst the crowd, but there was always something startlingly unique about him, with the effortless beauty and grace he carried everywhere. He considered, for a moment, that maybe that was how Nureyev saw _him_ , but the idea was almost laughable to Juno. That couldn’t be further from himself.

He kept reading, searching for something that might offer a clearer motive. 

_Drawing upon inner strength to succeed_

_Staying kind despite being tested by certain life events_

And there was Dahlia; the person Juno longed to be, but who was so often stolen away by the temptation hiding at the bottom of a bottle. He wanted to be strong, to be kind, but the imprint of _Her_ always seemed to slither to the surface. Maybe one day Juno could live up to Dahlia, but that day was not now, nor anywhere in sight.

_Finding a balance between adventure and relaxation_

Surely, at this point it was mocking him. Rita would certainly have feelings on _that_ definition. But maybe that was what Nureyev was offering him, a life with the thrill of adventure in the comforting arms of someone who lov- No. No, he couldn’t think along those lines. He couldn’t –

_Commitment to another person or certain ideal_

And there was the first one that truly stung. The other definitions might have been able to tear out a bitter laugh or resurface that familiar ache from deep within, but that one was the first shot of real pain. Was that supposed to mean Nureyev was committed to Juno, or that he believed Juno would be committed to him. The name Dahlia Rose had been gifted to him long before he had given Nureyev any reason to trust him and yet… There had always been something behind his eyes, a willingness to throw himself into Juno even if there was nowhere to land.

_Traveling and making a major life change in a positive way_

Nureyev had been hopeful. Even then, before Juno had shown any signs of trust, before he had confessed to any semblance of shared emotions, Nureyev placed hope in Juno. From day one, the offer to run away had been there. Dahlia was Nureyev’s way of handing Juno the stars. And what had he done with that gift? Nureyev truly had deserved so much better.

There was one final definition. One that made Juno want to cry or scream. One that made him feel sicker than he had thought possible.

_Warning someone about a potential betrayal_

Oh, the Universe had a cruel sense of humour. Juno had long suspected fate detested him, but this was his confirmation. Had Nureyev known, even if only on some deep unconscious level, that Juno carried with him nothing but heartbreak? Had he known that this would never end well? Did he know that and still hand Juno his heart anyway?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, uh, Kevin? Sophie? I'd like a fucking word
> 
>  
> 
> I was looking up flower meanings when planning my last fic and I kinda lost it when I read the entry on dahlias
> 
> Info from flowermeaning.com and serenataflowers.com


End file.
